


We Started At The End

by kay_emm_gee



Series: do you got room for one more troubled soul [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5691217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and his people travel to Polis to forge an alliance with the twelve clans. What they come home with is a truce agreement contingent upon the ability of their people being able to live among one another harmoniously in the most basic sense--an exchange program of sorts. Sky people at TonDC, and Grounders at Camp Jaha. Difficult terms, but necessary ones to keep the peace. </p><p>They never expected Clarke to be leading the group that is to stay with them, nor can they ignore how reluctant she seems about returning to camp in this way. </p><p>Still, their survival depends on them all--Skaikru and Grounder alike--making it through the summer. Old wounds reopen and enemies close in as everyone adjusts to the new normal at Camp Jaha. Bellamy and Clarke find themselves working together again, though so much time has passed, neither knows if they can ever go back to the way things were. Somehow, as the days pass, they start to wonder if they want to go back, or if there is the slightest possibility that this new beginning of theirs could be for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this story for nearly a year now and it's gone through a lot of changes. I could continue to wait until it's perfect but honestly that day is never going to come. So. Here we go...
> 
> Also, not necessary but appreciated, check out the prequel fic: This Is The Road To Ruin.

Six days of riding, and then they were standing on the hillcrest, looking down at the Grounder city with the same sort of awe and envy that they used to use for looking down at Earth.

“Never thought we’d see something like this, huh, big brother?” Octavia asked, grinning widely as she rose up in her saddle to get a better view.

Bellamy didn’t reply, still struck with what was laid out in the valley below them.

“Polis,” Kane proclaimed quietly to his left, his voice just barely audible over the scuffing of hooves and jingle of bridles.

When Lincoln had announced that the capitol was just over the next ridge, Bellamy hadn’t been able to stop himself from galloping up ahead of the group, anxious to see their destination. Octavia had been close behind, with Kane trailing her.

It wasn’t like the cities in the history books—time had been too unkind to the place—but there was still something about it—maybe the clear grid of winding streets and the crowds of multi-storied buildings—that made it feel overwhelmingly urban.

_Or it’s just that we live in the damn woods_ , Octavia would no doubt say if he voiced his thoughts, rolling her eyes for good measure.

It certainly was more than Bellamy had been expecting, and he felt surprisingly, grudgingly overwhelmed at the immenseness of it. He tried to fight the excitement that burst up inside him, because there would be enemies around every corner down there. Still, he never could have imagined that he would ever see something like this in his lifetime.

The sound of hoof beats echoed from behind them as the rest of their group caught up. Lincoln was in the lead, with the other scattered Trikru members—the last of their contingent, the rest having arrived days before—right behind. Bellamy shook his head at their fierce grace in maneuvering their horses up the rocky hillside effortlessly. Even as skilled a teacher as Echo had been, he still didn’t match up to those who had been riding since they could walk. Learning to ride from her had been humbling, because she didn’t believe in positive reinforcement, but he had learned well, and fast, something that had made the trip to Polis much easier.

When Lincoln reached him, he shot him an amused look. “Impressed?”

Bellamy grimaced, muttering, “It’s big.”

Lincoln chuckled at his reply, as did Octavia before she turned to her partner, a million questions tumbling from her lips. Bellamy wanted to listen, but he wheeled his mount around instead, watching to make sure Raven and Wick weren’t having any issues getting their cart full of tech to trade up the incline. Sergeant Miller and his guards had the situation well in hand, however, so Bellamy turned back to looking down at their destination.

“We’ve got company,” Kane murmured, nodding towards a group of riders emerging from the large metal gate that was creaking open.

“Last chance to turn back,” Bellamy replied, flicking a glance towards the group’s other leader.

Kane shifted in his saddle. “You change your mind about coming?”

“Not a chance,” Bellamy said.

Kane let out a low snort. Grimacing, Bellamy nodded and nudged his horse forward, watching Kane do the same, and together they rode down to meet the welcoming committee.

* * *

 

Though they had arrived at Polis midmorning, the sun had sunk low in the sky by the time their group had settled into their lodgings, which were part of the enormous semi-permanent encampment of tents right outside the city limits. There had been security checkpoints to pass and dignitaries to greet, though the official meeting of the twelve clans’ leaders, now thirteen if the Sky people were included, wouldn’t be until later that night. Exhausted from traveling and the dull political proceedings of the day, Bellamy wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the cot in his tent and take a long nap. Lincoln had arranged for someone to show them around the capitol before dinner, however, and it was best they familiarized themselves with the surroundings as soon as possible.

So, he only let himself sleep for a little while, and it was restless at that. Then he resorted to unpacking his scarce belongings and arming himself with a variety of concealed knives before walking over to their group’s common tent—intended for meetings and receiving visitors—to see if the others were ready.

Octavia and Lincoln were conversing quietly at the provided table, and aside from the guards outside, no one else was around.

“Raven and Wick settling in okay?” He asked, pulling up a chair.

Octavia shrugged. “I guess. I could only hear her yelling at him a few times, so I think it’s going well.”

“Everything else alright?”

“We’ve already had a few curious visitors,” his sister announced, her clipped tone revealing that _curious_ was far too polite a word for who had actually stopped by. “But Sergeant Miller and the guards handled them just fine.”

“It’s going to be a long two weeks,” Bellamy bit out, and his sister snorted in agreement.

“We should go,” Lincoln said after a bit, standing, prompting the siblings to do the same. “Marc will be waiting for us.”

Hand at the hilt of his machete, Bellamy followed them out of the tent, through the visitors’ camp, and into Polis itself. The stares they got as they walked through the narrow streets did nothing but make him grip the weapon tighter, his fingers tingling as they began to grow numb from the tension. Apparently everyone knew they were Skaikru, and everyone was ‘curious’, as his sister had said. At one point, Octavia actually unsheathed her sword, circling it menacingly as she stared down a rough-looking group that had begun to tail them. Lincoln had held her back, shouting a careful but hard greeting to the group in Trigedasleng. Their ‘friends’ backed off, but they weren’t the last group to confront them on their way to meet Lincoln’s contact. Bellamy was ready to lose it by the time they got to Marc, but his frustration waned as their guide began to tour them around.

“The setup is straightforward,” Marc explained as he walked them towards the busy heart of the city. “Like spokes of a wheel, the streets radiate out from plazas at the center of Polis. West Plaza is where the markets and trade areas are. You will need to pass through when coming from your lodgings to get to East Plaza, which is where you will spend most of your time while here, as that is where our political proceedings take place. Stay on the main streets, and don’t venture into the residential areas. They are strictly off-limits to the visiting clans, unless you are accompanied by a city official. ”

As their guide continued to advise them on the geography of the city, Bellamy felt his attention wane, drawn instead to the people around them. They crowded the streets here, as they were closer to the center of Polis. Every few feet there seemed to be people shaking hands and embracing, either in doorways, on street corners, or even in the middle of the road. An excitable energy filled the air, one that was more carefree that the tense atmosphere that lingered around the clan camps or the city edges.

“This isn’t just a political summit, is it?” Bellamy called up to their guide.

Marc looked at him appraisingly, then nodded. “It’s a time for all of our people, not just the warriors, to gather together. Craftsmen come to trade, apprentices to learn, spiritual leaders to commune. It is a melding of the clans, in the purest sense of the phrase. Some even choose to use this time to solidify personal alliances as well,” Marc concluded, slipping a sly glance between Octavia and Lincoln before looking ahead again.

Lincoln shot a dark glare at his friend, causing Octavia to reach up and press a kiss to his cheek. She gave Bellamy a shake of her head, and he was equal parts relieved and disappointed to know nothing would be changing between his sister and Lincoln, at least not this summer. He’d be happy to celebrate them, but it would be just another increase in the distance that had been growing between him and Octavia as Lincoln become a greater fixture in her life. It was how it should be, but he didn’t have to like it.

Those melancholy thoughts were driven right out of Bellamy’s mind when they reached West Plaza. It teamed with even more people, gathered around carts of various sizes, all displaying wares to trade or sell. Baskets, blankets, jewelry, weapons, food, pots, animal pelts, and who knows what else littered the bustling marketplace. The cacophony of voices speaking various dialects of Trigedasleng rose to near deafening levels as they moved through towards the center, each of them craning their heads to take it all in. Bellamy was so busy staring at the busy surroundings that he nearly tripped when several children ran straight across his path. The two in the lead laughed, with the other yelling _sori!_ over her shoulder before chasing after the others. For the first time since arriving, Bellamy smiled.

“Cute kids,” Octavia remarked, grinning at him.

“Not as cute as you were,” he said, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple sloppily.

“Stop,” she hissed, poking his side as he crunched her in tighter.

“What, worried a little love from your brother is going to ruin your reputation as a fierce Skaikru warrior?” He teased. Then he huffed in pain as her elbow connected with his side, wheezing as she spun away. “Jeez, O, take it easy.”

“Ai laik Oktavia kom skaikru, and I don’t take any of your shit,” she called over her shoulder as she caught up with Lincoln and Marc.

Bellamy followed, noting how their exchange had caught the attention of a group of warriors sitting at a table outside what looked like a tavern. Feeling their intense stares on his back as he left the plaza, Bellamy sobered, his hand finding his machete hilt again, realizing letting his guard down, even for a second to appreciate the momentous happenings around them, wasn’t an option under the circumstances of their visit.

* * *

 

Finally, outside the banquet hall, they joined up with Kane, who had been meeting with some of his Trikru contacts that afternoon, along with Raven and Wick. Sergeant Miller and two guardsmen were there also, with the rest of the guards remaining at the barracks to watch over their living quarters.

“Did the tech weather the journey here?” Bellamy asked Raven as they headed into the hall.

“The rain got through one of the packs of shock batons, but I don’t think the damage was too bad. They’re deconstructed and the parts are lying out to dry for the night. I’ll work on reassembling them tomorrow even though _someone_ idiotically left half the plans back at camp.”

Wick scoffed in response to Raven’s pointed glare. “I didn’t think you’d take them apart before asking me how, so don’t pin this on me, wrench monkey.”

Raven opened her mouth to argue, but they had arrived at the double doors leading to the dining room, and Kane sent them a silencing look. As Wick slipped his hand into Raven’s, Bellamy moved up to the front of their group, past Octavia and Lincoln, to join Kane as they walked around to the enormous banquet table to their previously assigned seats. The various clan groups already present watched them surreptitiously, whispering and muttering as they passed. Bellamy had to resist the urge to call them out on the spot, knowing any and all doubts about their right to be here would be addressed after the meal.

As they took their places, Bellamy began to doubt some of them would even bother to wait until then, if the glares sent their way were any indication.

“Tough crowd,” Kane murmured suddenly under his breath, turning his head a hair towards Bellamy.

“At least no one’s tried to kill us yet,” he replied, his tone a little bitter.

“Don’t jinx it,” Kane warned mockingly.

Bellamy dropped his head, hiding a smirk, taking a deep breath in to settle himself. He didn’t like how frazzled his nerves were, especially this early on in the night. Tightening his hands on the back of his chair, Bellamy visually traced the pattern on the plate in front of him over and over again until a hush fell over the room.

The Commander had arrived.

Looking up, he saw Lexa sweeping into the room, flanked by her interchangeable bearded bodyguards, with Indra and her new second following close behind. Months later and the Commander was as imperious as ever, though her face was absent of war paint tonight, ostensibly because of the peaceful nature of the meeting. Paint or no, her expression was just as fierce as always when she paused behind her seat, her gaze slowly circle around the table, falling on each clan representative in turn. She remained stoic throughout the process, effectively increasing the tension in the silent room. Only when her stare reached their people, who were almost directly to her left, did she break, her face tightening almost imperceptibly with something that appeared to Bellamy to be a mixture of approval and resignation.

“The Coalition was gathered once again. A momentous occasion,” she announced finally. “Many developments have happened since our last meeting at the Battle of the Mountain, some victorious, others that have tested the strength of our alliance. As we dine together tonight, let us think on what we have achieved together, and what happens to those who oppose us.”

Bellamy didn’t think he imagined how her words hardened and her eyes flickered to the Ice Nation contingent, whose leader curled her lips at her words. Clearly, their group would need to gather some updated intel on the current status of the clans’ relationships with each other. The way Kane tensed next to him told Bellamy the Chancellor was thinking the same thing. They were missing some vital information, some recent development that had thrown off what had previously been reported as tense but stable alliances. As they sat down to eat, bitter silence continued to permeate the room, and Bellamy tried not to grimace. It was going to be a long night, and he knew even after he finally got to bed, sleep was not going to come easily.

* * *

 

In the late-night darkness, Bellamy just barely beat Octavia into the common tent, the rest of the group at their heels and equally belligerent about what had just happened.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Octavia cried out, hand flying to the knife at her side out of habit.

Bellamy growled in agreement, but held up his hands in caution. There were bound to be listening ears nearby, and shouting would only make it easier for the spies to report back. No doubt the Commander, and who knows how many other clan leaders, were counting on such intel, especially after that near-disaster of a meeting.

“What did you expect?” Raven scoffed. “We’ve always been their enemy, from day one. Did you think we were going to make each other flower crowns and hold hands and sing campfire songs at this summit?”

Octavia made a strangled sound of indignation but held herself in check when Lincoln’s hand rested softly on her shoulder.

“It could’ve been worse,” Kane commented, though the tension in his frown belied his neutral tone.

“We’re just lucky Blake’s girlfriend took the hit for us,” Wick sighed, maneuvering a fuming Raven into a chair before collapsing into a seat himself.

Annoyed, Bellamy shifted forward to argue—he and Echo were long over, and had never been, well, anything like that—but Raven beat him to it, kicking Wick’s shin. The engineering grunted in pain but didn’t say anything else.

“I would never have accepted her help, or any group’s help, had I known the possible strings attached,” Bellamy admitted darkly. Suddenly the blankets and food and advice that had gotten them through the winter didn’t seem so worth it anymore.

He regretted that thought immediately, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration, because countless lives had been saved because of that help, even though it was causing trouble now.

“We all agreed to it Bellamy, because we didn’t have much choice,” Kane argued, bracing his elbows on his knees. “And we didn’t know, so no one is at fault.”

“I should’ve have thought of it,” Lincoln offered in a rueful, frustrated tone. “Those laws are so old, though. They’re never—no one has enforced them in a long time.”

“How convenient,” Octavia muttered bitterly.

Bellamy snorted in agreement. Of course it was convenient—the clans, not all but enough, were a bit uneasy about the Sky People joining the new Coalition, the post-mountain Coalition. Rumors had made their way back to Camp Jaha about how the clans were impressed with their defeat of the Mountain, but also feared how the Sky people might retaliate against them all for Lexa’s abandonment. Bellamy had expected some pushback to appear at this summit, but he hadn’t expected to be blindsided on their first day with accusations of collusion and treaty violation, especially when it had been unknowingly done.

Neither he nor his people had known that the old Grounder laws stated that if material goods were exchanged between clans in a one-sided manner—which the help their camp received from the Grounders this winter had been, because at that time there hadn’t been enough tech to spare for trade in return—then it was implied that the receiving clan’s loyalty was given in lieu of material payment. Essentially, in their desperation to survive, they had unintentionally allied themselves, without approval of the Conclave, with those who had helped them.

Although Trigeda had contributed goods, Echo and her people were technically the first to help the camp, and so the alleged alliance, it turned out, had been made with the Ice Nation, as Echo and her people were Azgeda, not Trigeda—something she had neglected to mention, or correct, during her stay at the camp, Bellamy had realized in the meeting room. Lexa had made this announcement neutrally, though her jaw had snapped shut tightly when she finished. The rest of her people had not been so diplomatic, grumbling and staring daggers at Bellamy and his people as they immediately stood to defend themselves.

The other clans had simply shifted uneasily as the Sky people fought against the accusations, and Bellamy had noticed the way their stares flicked between them, Lexa, and Nia, the Azgeda commander. He had learned enough of clan history from Lincoln over the months to understand the tension building in the room, and just why their accidental alliance was such a problem. To Trigeda, it must have looked like an act of war, supposedly allying with their old enemy, especially given that Camp Jaha had made their feelings on Lexa’s betrayal quite clear in the months following the battle of Mount Weather. As Kane and Lexa bantered back and forth, Nia’s smile had bordered on smug, and resentment had gripped Bellamy’s stomach as he watched her watch the exchange. Whether or not she had orchestrated the whole mess—which she probably had, hoping either no one would find out, or that Skaikru, the new challenger, would be punished—she was getting far too much enjoyment out of their predicament.

For a moment, when Echo stepped forward from the shadows, the Azgeda sigil now clearly banded around her upper arm where it hadn’t been months ago, he had felt resentment bubble up towards her as well. Then she had spoken, glancing briefly at him just once before explaining how, technically, there had been no clan banners present when goods were bequeathed with Camp Jaha.

_No banner,_ she had said, stiffening when her people began to mutter behind her back, _means the law doesn’t apply. The goods were not given from one clan to another—just one neighbor to another. So there is no debt to be paid._

He almost leapt forward when an Azgeda warrior jerked Echo away from the dais and out of view, and anger flared in his chest when he saw Nia glare coldly, cruelly at her disappearing clan member. Echo had taken a huge risk, using a technicality to rescue them; he wouldn’t forget that, though he wasn’t sure he would be ready to forgiven her deceit anytime soon.

_You are correct. The law does not apply then,_ Lexa had repeated, still toneless, but Bellamy almost swore he saw the corners of her mouth tug upward in the beginnings of a smirk. _And if the law does not apply, then the charges are dismissed._

When some of the clans—those located geographically nearest to Azgeda territory, Bellamy had noted grimly—protested, Lexa had simply raised her hand, glaring at the dissenters.

_It is done_ , she proclaimed harshly, swooping up to stand at the edge of the dais. _They are cleared of_ all _charges._

The meeting had deteriorated from there, several clans slinking out with glowering expressions, others filing out while considering the Sky People with something akin to acceptance. Bellamy and the rest had waited until the halls were clear, none of them particularly eager to confront the clans again, not while emotions were running high.

Even an hour later, sitting inside their meeting tent, emotions were still running high as they debriefed from the meeting. Octavia kept pacing, tapping her blade against her thigh as she muttered under her breath. Lincoln was talking quietly with Kane, and Raven was fixing a pocket flashlight, swearing whenever her changes to the circuitry made its beam flicker out.

Still lost for words, and not expecting to find reasonable ones anytime soon, Bellamy straightened from his place leaning on one of the tent posts and headed towards the door.

“You’re going to bed?” Octavia blurted, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Bellamy sighed at her incredulous tone. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, O—“

“Oh, hell yes there is.”

“I’m not about to fight anyone over this, not when it’d do more harm then good.”

His sister looked positively mutinous at his words, but Raven hummed in agreement.

“No use starting another war, not when we’re in their territory,” she offered. “Use that battle brain of yours, warrior princess. Let’s fight them when we actually have a winning shot at it.”

Octavia huffed, though she didn’t resume pacing, and Bellamy guessed that was as good of an acquiescence he was going to get from his sister tonight. With one last pointed look at her and a nod farewell to the rest, he ducked outside to head to his tent.

As he collapsed onto his cot, he groaned, some part of him wishing he had changed his mind on the hill this morning, wheeling his horse around and racing back to Camp Jaha. This was only day one, yet he felt as if they were now in the middle of another war, and he already had been in enough of those down here to last him a lifetime.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke braced her back against the side of the building, letting her hands splay out against the rough brick. She contemplated peeking her head around the corner, out of the alley, to see if her pursuers were still on her trail. In between heavy inhales, she decided to stay put for a minute, wait just a little bit longer.

“Found you!”

She startled, spinning around to face the other end of the narrow, dingy alleyway. Sidni was there, a bright grin on her face, and Aidin was practically wiggling with excitement. She shouldn’t be surprised, really; the siblings had a particular talent for their version of hide-and-seek.

Sighing in defeat, Clarke let out a little laugh as she drew closer to the children. “How in the world did you—“

Sidni pointed up to the fire escape, whose ladder was now drawn down to the ground.

“You never look up, Klark,” she teased as she skipped closer, her brother at her heels.

Clarke chuckled. “Never had a reason to before.”

“But you lived in the Sky! All there is is up!”

She fought a grimace, because in reality, the Sky was just a metal box to her, endless walls closing in, pressing air from your lungs. Even on the ground it—

Immediately she shook off that thought. No need to tempt fate, not when her people were so close by, were so close to her, to finding her. She wasn’t ready.

“Let’s go find the others,” she offered, steering the conversation back to the present.

Aidin chanted his agreement, scampering to the end of the alleyway as he waited impatiently for two of them to catch up. Sidni just gave her a careful look— _that girl didn’t miss anything_ , Clarke thought wryly—before calling after her brother, telling him where they should look next.

It didn’t take long to find the rest of their ragtag group; Aidin knew all the best hiding spots. Unsurprising, as he and his sister had been on their own in Polis for a long time before they found Caro. They knew the city better than anyone, possibly better than those who had lived here their whole life. All of Caro’s charges did; most of them had lived on the streets at one point or another, all orphans or outcasts from their villages who had sought a better life in Polis. Now they had each other, though, and a home that Caro kept a careful but distant watch over.

 _Food and water and clothes—they don’t need much else_ , the woman had told Clarke when they first met. _No use trying to parent them, not when they don’t need it anymore_. _Been on their own to long to want it, or at least want it from me._

She wasn’t wrong, Clarke learned. The younger ones liked Caro, but it was the older kids whom they looked up to with admiration and love. That familial bond was reciprocated strongly, and she quickly learned how much they all cared for one another. Even now, Jon, one of the older boys, hoisted Aidin onto his shoulders as the triumphant victor while they made their way back home.

 _And protected one another_ , she thought with a silent laugh, lingering at the back of the group like usual. They had been so wary of her at first—Caro never took in tenants, but she had thrown one hard look at Clarke’s exhausted frame, clucked her tongue, and that had been that—but once the children learned she was Skaikru, their defensiveness had turned to endless curiosity.

There had been so many questions from them, about _skai_ , about coming to the ground, about _maun and maunon_ , and for the first time, Clarke didn’t feel like she was picking scabs off of never-healing wounds when she answered them. There was no pretense to their asking, no testing her loyalties or assessing her strength. She was not the Ark princess to them, or the teenage Chancellor, or Wanheda _._ She was just Klark kom Skaikru, telling stories about those whom she loved best, those whom she had left behind.

“I saw them, you know,” Sidni said quietly, suddenly appearing at her side.

Clarke glanced down carefully at the girl. “Who?”

“Skaikru.”

Nodding, she didn’t reply out loud, not trusting her voice to be steady enough.

“They’re just like you said,” Sidni added, a thread of awe in her voice. “Just like in your stories.”

Clarke could only manage was a hum of tepid agreement, because it was all she could do to keep her footsteps from speeding up, to stop her legs from starting to run, to stop her heart crying out for her to flee. _Too close_ , her muscles screamed. _They’re too close._

She thought she had been prepared for this, for the summit. Hell, she had been the one to push Lexa for Skaikru’s inclusion. Still, the knowledge that her people were inside the city limits, walking these streets, maybe even just a block away, set her nerves alight.

Seven months gone, and it still wasn’t enough to drive the ghosts of her past away.

“Klark?”

Rolling her shoulders, Clarke pushed down her anxiety, pasting a small smile on her face. “Hm?”

Sidni’s bright green eyes were piercing as the girl considered for her for a moment. Then her gaze relaxed, and she smiled back. “Nothing.”

She was gone, running up to join her friends before Clarke even registered her departure.

* * *

 

When she slipped into Caro’s kitchen, the burly grey-haired woman with the kindest face she had seen in Polis was poking at the wood stove, no doubt in preparation for dinner. Immediately Clarke stepped up to start chopping up the vegetables that they had bought at the market earlier that week; soup was the easiest meal to make for so many mouths. No sooner had she started slicing than Caro turned around, fixing her an expectant glance.

“There’s a letter for you.”

Clarke froze for a second before looking away, her knife moving much faster now. With each knock of the blade against the wooden board, her heartbeat pounded louder in her ears. There were too many possibilities in that note, in content and in sender.

“It had the Commander’s seal,” Caro explained brusquely, hauling a pot of water onto the stove to start boiling. “So you’d best open it sooner rather than later.”

Clarke flicked an admonishing glare at her housemate; the woman was ambivalent about the Commander for the most part. Many in the capital felt similarly; it seemed only the clans themselves had strong opinions—either positive or negative—about Lexa. Polis seemed so removed from the clan politics, as the city itself was neutral ground. No clan could claim ownership, though it still fell within the jurisdiction of the Commander and the Coalition. So, even here, despite that ambivalence, correspondence from Heda still held weight with the inhabitants of Polis and was not to be ignored, not even by Clarke kom Skaikru.

When Caro just nudged the offending parchment closer, Clarke grumbled, “Later. I’ll look at it later.”

The woman snorted but did not press the matter any farther, focusing instead on the meal left to prepare for her charges next door. It was only when, an hour later, the house was sweltering, spelled like spice, and absent of Caro and soup—both having gone next door—that Clarke slipped the letter from the table and trudged upstairs to read it.

For a while she just ran her finger over the edge, letting the sharpness of the paper bite into her skin. Repeating the motion, she listened to the faint laughter and chatter of dinnertime echo into her room from below. Soon the sun was too low in the sky to give off any sort of helpful light, though, so with a sigh, Clarke lit the candle on the small table next to her bed as she sat down, steeling herself.

As the tiny flame fought against the vast dimness of her room, she cracked the Commander’s seal and unfolded the letter, hands trembling at what she might find.

Three times she read it, just to be sure, as her sight blurred the first time and her mind raced to quickly the second to absorb the message fully.

It was better than she had expected—just an update of the first summit meeting three nights ago, when Skaikru had been accused and acquitted of treason. It left a sick feeling in her stomach all the same, to see their names, the names of her people written out, the most tangible piece of them she had experienced in so long.

 _I thought you should know_ , Lexa had concluded, and as usual, her terse message held more meaning than what the words themselves said.

_I thought you should know (because there is more to come)._

_I thought you should know (because there is more to come and it will require your help)._

Clarke pressed the heels of her palms against her closed eyes, knowing she had made the right choice but regretting it all the same. Skaikru was here because she had fought for their inclusion in the new Coalition, but because Skaikru was here, the fragile, new life she had begun to build in Polis was in danger. It was everything she hoped for her people, but everything she dreaded for herself.

Now, though, she would do nothing but wait—wait for the storm to pass, or wait for it to hit her head on. So after a few unsteady breaths, she folded the message up, then held one corner over the candle. It caught alight, and Clarke watched dully as orange flame climbed greedily up the paper, rendering her returning past to ash.

At least for the moment.

* * *

 Her reprieve lasted three days.

“Another message from Heda.”

Clarke swiped the parchment from Caro without looking at her, flying up the stairs with blood pounding in her ears. She swore as she turned it over, because the seal was red and black this time—an official summons. After a minute of contemplation, she lit a match and let the flame consume this note too, except this one went unread.

Whatever Lexa wanted, _needed_ her to do this time, it wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t ready yet. And if she could last another week and a half, Skaikru would be gone, and she could breathe again. She would answer the summons then.

The next note came with a guard attached, burly and brusque as ever. He watched her open the note—no doubt on orders—but she just stared at the words without reading them, feigning the task.

“She will want an answer,” he said haughtily when Clarke simply folded the paper up and glared at him from the doorway. She could see the children—Sidni, mostly—peeping from the windows next door, wide eyes watching their ‘honored’ visitor; the sight almost made her laugh, but then the guard shifted into her view again, souring her mood.

“I’ll give her one when I have one,” she retorted tartly. “Or she can come get it herself, if it's that urgent.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch before he frowned and turned away. Clarke grumbled under her breath and then slammed the door behind him, giving it a kick with her boot for good measure.

“Good thing you’re so skilled with a knife,” Caro muttered archly from the kitchen, not even bothering to hide her eavesdropping. “You certainly dance on the edge of it enough.”

“I can handle Lexa.”

“I believe every clan commander here for the summit, and the summit before that, has said the same thing. And yet she is still Heda.”

“And I am Wanheda,” Clarke snapped. “Heda never beat the mountain, did she? I did.”

Immediately Caro deflated, her gaze softening with something almost like pity. “Klark—“

Clarke raised her hand, cutting the woman off. She really didn’t want to have this conversation, not now. “I’m going to the pits tonight. Eiren asked me to. They need more healers.”

Caro glanced at her sharply. “Is it safe? After last time?”

“Safe enough.” Clarke knew there were still disappearances being reported after fights at the pits—the reason why she had been sent out in the first place--but it didn’t stop people from going or attending, especially not now with the summit. During her first weeks of slipping around unnoticed, she had gathered as much intel for Lexa as she could, but it wasn’t long before her anonymity made further investigation impossible. And then the challenges came: everyone wanted to fight Wanheda, even when she attended only in a healer’s capacity. Usually they respected her declines, but one night an offended warrior had ambushed her on the way home, leaving her in rough shape and no desire to return to the pits anytime soon. Tonight she was only going because Eiren had seemed desperate.

No doubt reading into her concern, Caro grimaced. “The children better not follow you again.”

“Not my problem. You should be watching them better,” Clarke taunted, forcing a smile to lighten the mood.

Caro let out a barking laugh. “And you should be able to know when a herd of little ones is following you through the city, Klark kom Skaikru. Some warrior you are.”

Her amusement was genuine this time as she shook her head—really, she should have noticed them following her on her first view visits to the pits. She hadn’t made the same mistake since then, and she wouldn’t now, deciding to leave via the second story. Better safe than sorry where the kids were concerned.

With a nod in farewell to her housemate, Clarke retreated to her room to collect her medical satchel, slinging it over her shoulder before climbing up onto the roof. Anticipation built in her chest as she hopped from building top to top, eventually climbing her way down to the dusky streets. Going to the pits tonight was risky, given how many eyes would be watching, but Eiren needed the help, what with the influx of visitors, all hot-blooded from the summit negotiations and eager to prove their worth in front of their allies and enemies.

Clarke sighed. It was going to be a bloodbath, which meant she would be working into the early hours of the morning. Her only consolation was that maybe the matches would be too engaging for anyone to notice her.

As she heard the roar of the pits in the distance, her own denying lie turning sour on her tongue. It would be a miracle if she avoided a challenge tonight, let alone slipped under the radar completely.

_She was Wanheda, after all, and what better honor than to fight than one who commanded death?_

She pressed her thumb against the scar on her hand, giving into old habits as she grimaced bitterly in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Most times Bellamy didn’t mind following his sister. Tonight, though, in the evening darkness lit only by flickering torchlight, he frowned as he looked around at the raucous crowds of the fighting pits. “If you wanted to get us killed, O, there are easier ways.”

She started to respond, but the match to their left ended, and the shouts of the celebrating onlookers drowned out her retort. He exchanged a look with Lincoln, who seemed amusedly resigned.

“I _said_ ,” Octavia announced louder. “You can’t spend all of your time in the archives.”

“Why not?”

Lincoln had been showing them around there, and Bellamy found it fascinating to compare the Grounder histories with the Ark’s records of the earth before. Yet with his presence needed at the negotiations most days, he didn’t get over as much as he liked, and he was regretting giving up tonight, with only less than a week left of the summit.

“ _Because_ those aren’t our neighbors. _These_ are,” his sister huffed, spreading her arms wide. “You want to make alliances? Prove our worth? This is our judge and jury.”

“I’m not fighting,” Bellamy replied immediately. He had promised Monty and Harper he would come back to camp in one piece, and it was a vow he had every intention of keeping.

“You don’t have to,” his sister grumbled. “I’ve already entered myself into a few of the lower tier matches. Someone from our group had to, and it might as well be someone who actually has a shot at winning.”

Bellamy grunted in protest, anger and worry flaring in his chest.

Lincoln’s hand came down on his shoulder. “I vetted her opponents—only four total. She’ll be fine. Might lose one or two, but we want that. If she wins all of them, they’ll say we only entered into fights we knew we’d win.”

“Isn’t that a smart thing?”

“Smart, but not always brave. They want to see both from their opponents and their allies.”

“And yet Lexa still leads them.”

Lincoln’s eyes flashed in warning at his jab. Bellamy snorted and shrugged in grudging understanding: _not here_.

“Brave and _smart_ ,” Lincoln emphasized, knocking his knuckles against his head. Lightly, Bellamy smacked his hand away and grinned. Lincoln rolled his eyes before following an energetic Octavia into the throng, leaving him on his own.

Taking in a deep breath, Bellamy meandered through the arena, dodging patrons, bookies, and snack carts alike. He watched a few bouts when he had spent enough time just taking in the sights. They were like the boxing matches he had seen glimpses of in footage on the Ark, except the rings were set a foot or so into the ground and just bandages not gloves covered the fighters’ fists. The other part that was different was the energy that pervaded the room, infectious and violent. It was one thing to hear the crowds’ cheers for one last punch, one defeating blow over a speaker system; it was another to have the sound bang around inside his ribcage, ring in his ears until he too was waiting for the victorious blow, strung out on the high of it all.

So caught up, he nearly threw a punch when someone grabbed his arm forcefully. It was just Lincoln though, and he relaxed. Then Bellamy noticed his hard, cautious expression.

“Octavia?” He blurted, lurching forward.

Lincoln caught his shoulders, holding him in place. Bellamy shook him off, glaring, daring him to tell him what happened.

“She won her first match.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to fight someone?”

“She traded in her other fights.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can use fights like currency. Multiple lower-tiered fights can be swapped in for a higher-tiered one.”

“Shit. She’s in over her head, isn’t she? Why didn’t you stop her?” Bellamy took one look at Lincoln’s dubious expression and waved his hand. “Never mind, forget I said that. But why?”

Now Lincoln was avoiding his gaze, looking up at the sky like he was asking for deliverance. Then a chant started up and Lincoln cupped his hands over his face, but before he could reply, the voices of the mass became clearer and Bellamy froze.

“No,” he breathed. “ _No._ ”

“She’s here,” Lincoln admitted finally, though he was barely audible over the cries of _wan-he-da, wan-he-da_.

“I’m going to kill her,” Bellamy seethed, not sure if he was talking about Octavia or Clarke.

Lincoln tried to grab his arm as he started forward, but Bellamy shied away, even that harmless gesture too much. His nerve were too frayed, rubbed raw from the knowledge that she was _here_ , in Polis, and yet they hadn’t heard a word from her in the week and half since arriving. She had to know they were here; everyone knew Skaikru was at the summit.

And his sister, god—of course Octavia had to challenge her. That wound had been festering far too long, and O always did like to rip the bandage right off, no hesitation or caution or care for pain.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, dully, avoiding the concern in Lincoln’s eyes.

In tandem, they wordlessly pushed through the crowd, heading for the ring in the center of the arena. Once they reached the outer edge of the spectators—one of the largest groups gathered for the night, he noticed grimly—Bellamy halted, feet frozen in place.

Seven months, and Clarke was here, only a few yards away, about to face his little sister in hand-to-hand combat.

_Of course._

“You don’t need to—“

Bellamy cut Lincoln off, refocusing his vision. “I do.”

They pushed to the front together, which was difficult, given the fight had already started and everyone wanted to see this battle.

He saw his sister first: a wave of brown hair, the dirty-white blur of her bandaged fists. A small spark of pride welled up, because his sister was a skilled fighter. She would do them proud, in any match, no matter the opponent.

Then he saw the flash of blonde, and his chest pinched tightly.

_Clarke._

Dressed as she was in the clothes of a Grounder citizen, Bellamy wasn’t sure he would have recognized her on the street, not with her too-hollow cheeks and her hair laced up in braids. The rest of it flowed loosely down her back in ragged curls, only a bit longer than it had been when she had left. She looked smaller, down there in the pit, but the concentration on her face was as familiar as ever. As he continued to watch her, his stomach rolled with something hot and turbulent, because she was still Clarke, but it felt like he was looking at a stranger.

His sister wasn’t holding back for her old friend; her punches were forceful, no-holds-bar. She meant them, it seemed—wanted to feel her knuckles break skin, wanted to hear bone knock against bone. Not that Clarke was giving any less, but from what Bellamy could see, she was just doing the minimum to ward Octavia off, only going on the offense just to keep her opponent on her toes.

His sister charged her, forcing her to spin around to avoid a tackle. Still, she managed to clip Octavia in the shoulder, setting her off-balance. A small, relieved smile flickered on Clarke’s face, and in her moment of brief reprieve, she looked up, and when she did, it was straight at him.

Blue as ever, her eyes locked on his, and he watched her face blanch. Her mouth parted in shock—and then she wasn’t there anymore.

Bellamy almost leapt into the ring as he watched his sister land on top of Clarke, who was doing her best to roll them over. Lincoln held him back though, shouting about how the move was allowed. Clarke did manage to buck Octavia off, but only after a violent head-butt that seemed to leave them both reeling.

With a growl, Octavia rushed her again, and this time Clarke didn’t hold back. They clashed, a flurry of fists and hair, the roar of the crowd rising as the urgency of the fight peaked.

“We have to stop this,” Bellamy shouted, ripping away from Lincoln’s tight hold.

A collective gasp went up, and he jerked his attention back to the fight. Blood rushed in his ears as he saw that Clarke had managed to twist Octavia around, looping an elbow around her neck, her other arm holding his sister’s arm behind her back. Clarke’s eyes caught his again, just over his sister’s shoulder. They shuttered as she tightened her chokehold on Octavia, whose face was red, bruised, and twisted in frustration at her defeat.

“Gonplei ste oden!” Clarke shouted, tongue flicking briefly over her split lower lip. Her voice sliced through him like a knife, the low tenor of it splitting open the lock on his memories of her, ones he had stowed away for the good of his people. “Em ste odon!”

When the referee repeated her words, ending the match and announcing Clarke the victor, the crowd broke out into a frenzy. Clarke immediately released Octavia and turned her back, headed towards the opposite edge of the arena, pace quickening. Without thinking, Bellamy started to circle around the ring, determined to intercept her. As he pushed through the lingering spectators, he heard his sister let out a fierce cry. Jerking his attention back to the ring, though he kept moving, he watched her launch herself at Clarke, who spun around with fury in her eyes.

In a blink, Clarke had his sister on the ground, straddling her and pining her wrists above her head with one hand. The other hand was clutching a knife, which had appeared out of nowhere, and pressing it against Octavia’s throat. Silence descended over the crowd, leaving only shocked whispers in its wake, because weapons weren’t allowed in the arena.

Fury at both women burned in Bellamy’s stomach as he stood at the edge of the ring, watching them glare at each other in challenge.

“Bak op gon hon op boterflys,” Clarke barked, tightening her grip when Octavia tried to wiggle free.

His sister froze at the words, and a hint of a smile started on Clarke’s face.

“Weron yu cron, prises?” Octavia grunted in reply, an odd affection in her voice.

After a second, Clarke tipped her head back and laughed, a dry ringing sound. Then she released Octavia, sheathing the knife in her boot as she stood. She helped his sister stand, and then the women clasped forearms in the traditional farewell of battle before separating, finally having settled whatever score had been between them.

Clarke then glanced across the ring, to where he had been before. Her expression relaxed when she didn’t find him there. His gut clenched, watching as she turned around, heading unknowingly right for him.

Just as she reached the edge to hoist herself up, he held out his hand, and she took it. It was only when her fingers latched on his—her hand just as small as he remembered, her palm rougher—that she jerked her gaze up to his face, shock written into every line.

The memory of another save, another assist flashed through his mind— _finding Jasper at the tree, seeing Clarke disappear, reaching out unthinkingly, the panic in her eyes as he held her life in his hands_. Anger pulsed through him as she began to slide her hand out of his grip, so he just clamped down and hoisted her up without a word. Her boots scrabbled at the metal wall for a second before she managed, with his help, to get her feet on solid ground again. Briefly she stumbled into him, jerking away before he could even register her body heat. His hand grew clammy as hers slid away, and he clenched it into a fist, hating the feeling.

“Bellamy.”

Her voice seemed to break over the three syllables, and it made him grimace, the reluctance in her tone.

“So you’re in Polis,” he accused.

“I am.” She offered no additional explanation, no excuses for not contacting them.

“How long have you been here?”

She closed her eyes, and he couldn’t take his off of her, watching the flash of hurt and then resolution flash across her tired face.

“How long, Clarke?”

She just said his name again, a sigh, a plea.

He had no more forgiveness to give her, though, not for this. “We thought you could be _dead_ , Clarke. It didn’t matter if you never came home, not to m—not to us. But here? You could’ve gotten a message to us, something, just to let us know you were alive!” His voice rose to a shout, and it wasn’t just to be heard over the rowdy crowded jostling them closer together, then further apart.

“I’m—” She turned as a Grounder appeared at her side, a healer’s pendant around his neck. He whispered in her ear, and she nodded. With a sorrowful glance, she said, “I have to go.”

Then she turned, and desperation rose in his gut. Bellamy lurched forward and caught her arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Quickly, she bent his fingers back, twisting his wrist into a painful hold at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” she bit out, before shoving away and disappearing into the crowd.

Bellamy shook out his throbbing fingers as he saw a last glimpse of blonde swallowed by the night. For a minute he just stood there, mind racing, wondering why he wasn’t chasing after her, wondering why he wanted to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be found.

Seven months later, and Clarke was still slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t help but wonder, yet again, if he had done the right thing by letting her go at the gate.

When Octavia found him, he was standing in the same place, staring at the space where Clarke used to be.

“You okay?” She muttered.

“Fine,” he said automatically.

“I should have kicked her ass harder.”

Bellamy cast a sharp look at his sister, not knowing if she was serious or not.

She held his gaze stubbornly for a few moments before sighing. “Let’s go home.”

He felt too numb to do much else but follow Octavia and Lincoln away from the pits, through the city, and out to their camp. They only had four days left in Polis, and there were far too many people and far too many of his own doubts to wade through to find Clarke again. Still, he didn’t know if he could walk away, knowing she was right here, just around the corner.

The answer didn’t come to him, not when they got back their camp and everyone exploded with questions when Octavia revealed their finding. It didn’t come to him when Raven demanded they ask Lexa where Clarke was staying, nor when Kane argued they didn’t have time to track her down, not when they were still hammering out the peace talks. It didn’t come to him when Octavia narrowed her eyes, watching him too carefully, too knowingly.

He lay in bed that night, still without answers and not enough time left to figure them out.

 _Later,_ he thought bitterly as he drifted off to sleep. _We always figure it out later._

He just hoped that this time, later wouldn’t turn out to be too late.


	4. Chapter 4

_Her skin isn’t burning, but it is close enough to fire to sting and to peel, and when Finn sits up in the pyre of bodies and fire, staring at her with glassy eyes and says_ this is all because of you – you decide who is disposable _in a voice that sounds like Octavia, then her insides are alight too, a twisted, pained mess. She stumbles back, away from the flames and accusations, whipping around only to find her hand on the dropship lever, heat seeping in around her from outside as the Grounder warriors scream in agony. This is a slow burn, a dragged-out torturous building of sweat and pressure, as she waits for the ashes to cool and the ramp to drop down._

_When she steps outside, though, it is to a mass of screaming survivors, the remaining citizens of TonDC. Charred bone cracks under her boots as she walks forward towards the center of the blast, little pockets of lingering fire licking at her heels. A hand clamps on her shoulder, and she turns, crying out when it is Bellamy, eyes bloody, throat cut, skin ravaged with radiation burns._

You’re a monster, _he accuses, hard and harsh, like those first days on the ground._

I was trying to save you, _she cries out, but it is Finn’s voice she hears._ I’m always trying to save you.

 _Flames reflect in his judging eyes as he shakes his head mournfully at her and replies,_ You can’t even save yourself.

_Then the edges of him start to blacken, curl in like paper burning, and Bellamy shrivels before her eyes into darkness and ash, even as she screams, even as she sticks her hands into the middle of the burning mass, singeing her fingers and scorching her knuckles, because she can’t lose him too, not again, but then it is she who is consumed by the flames, and it eats her alive, as it does everything trying to survive on the ground, greedy, insatiable, starving--_

 

Clarke woke with a start, gasping for breath and with sweat-damp, twisted sheets plastered around her tense legs. Every muscle in her body seized with panic. Her hair clung to her neck, and her fingers ached from digging them into the mattress. She could still feel the heat of the flames licking up her arms, licking at her racing heart, and she groaned in despair and frustration, because the dream had returned.

Two months ago, the worst ones had finally ceased. Yet it hadn’t been a completely peaceful two months without them, not by far. There were plenty of other memories lurking in her subconscious to haunt her in sleep, but this particular dream had been absent from the cycle of bad night memories until tonight. Clarke had no illusions about why it had resurged. The flash of bandaged fists and dark, hurt eyes had followed her all the way home, staying present even as she had drifted off into restless sleep.

She could see those images even now in the dark as she stared up at the ceiling. Fury ran through her like wildfire, because this—this feeling of burning and drowning in flames at the same time—was why she had left. It was also why she had stayed away. It hurt too much, even after all this time. She was selfish. She was weak. She didn’t want to feel the pain anymore, not when she had fought so hard against. Not when she had finally clawed her way back to numbness.

Her stomach turned to lead as she continued to find Octavia’s angry eyes and Bellamy’s pained grimace swirling in the shadows of her room, even now. Her lungs squeezed and expanded faster and faster, and her skin itched from being too still. Frantically, she rolled out of bed, grabbing a blanket as she headed for the roof and the one thing that might distract her from the urge to run.

By the time she was staring up at the stars, the darkest hour of the night had already passed. Dawn still wasn’t for a while, but as bad as the dream had been tonight, Clarke could use all the time she could get. She needed sleep, if the coming days were going to be as trying as she feared.

So, as always, she started by finding the Big Dipper, familiar satisfaction thrumming through her when its arch and hollow came into view. The stars were more confusing above her than when they had been around her, and it had taken her longer than she would have liked to learn the configurations. Maybe it was the distance from them; maybe it was that she was more ground than sky these days. Still, seeing that first cup-and-handle design pop into place never failed to thrill her.

After staring at the big one for a few moments—just like millions of others before her had, and many after her would—she let her eyes wander off the tip of its cup until she found Polaris. From there, she traced down the handle of the Little Dipper, and back up again. Then, in the same way she had done for months, her gaze drifted aimlessly out until the prominent zigzag of Cassiopeia became recognizable, with the five-pointed Cepheus following. From there, it was a little harder for her to find the shapes, but also easier for the twinkling pinpricks to mesmerize her, hypnotize her into sleep.

Tonight, though they weren’t as potent, and she had to search farther out into the unknown patterns of light before her eyelids started to droop. Even as they worked their magic, though, for a second, she was tracing freckles, not stars, but before she could reach out to touch their warmth, she slipped into an oblivion where neither fear nor dreams nor hopes could reach her.

* * *

 Pounding noises woke her, and she startled up, wondering who was banging on the second-floor dropship hatch. As she blinked awake in the daylight, though, she remembered.

_Polis. Caro. Roof._

The pounding started again, and this time the pitch of the sound—flesh against wood not metal—reached her ears correctly. Groaning, she stood, then gathered the blanket and yanked open the trap door beneath her.

A bearded face scowled up at her. “The Commander wants to see you.”

Clarke glared down at the warrior for a minute, arms folded over her chest, as if considering ignoring his order. In truth, she knew she was going to go see Lexa. After last night, she couldn’t ignore her nagging need to know how the summit negotiations were going. Still, it was early in the morning, and she felt like being contrary. Also, Lexa’s interchangeable guards always stuck under her skin like an annoying itch; she took any opportunity to piss them off.

When his brow tightened an inch, she sighed and nearly stuck her boot in his face as she began to climb down into the house. She took her time gathering a pack to leave. Sauntering slowly down into the kitchen, she smiled with sarcastic cheer at the other guard at the door. And she kept smiling mockingly, only pausing to flash a grumbling and suspicious Caro a genuine grimace of apology for the unwanted intruders before heading out the door.

The trek across the city is entirely too short, and soon enough, Clarke was striding into the antechamber outside the large meeting room, where Lexa was preparing for the day’s talks. She didn’t miss the way the commander’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, nor the way she didn’t quite meet her eye as she nodded hello.

“It has been a while,” Lexa remarked archly.

Clarke ground her jaw before answering, “I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Closing her eyes, she bit back a retort, not wanting to waste her time on choices already made, by herself, by Lexa. Those choices couldn’t be changed, only followed through on. So, instead, she asked, “Want do you need?”

The uneasy silence that followed had her looking at Lexa again, sharply, warily. The commander’s expression shuttered, and Clarke’s heart squeezed, because whatever she was about to ask of her, it would hurt one of them, or maybe both. Nothing good ever came from Lexa shutting down like that.

“I need to keep the Coalition together,” she replied slowly. “To do that, I need respect between the clans, and trust eventually, including for and from Skaikru. And to do that, I need your help.”

“With what?” Clarke enunciated, blood beginning to rush in her ears. Lexa never beat around the bush, always went for the jugular straight away. This was a cautious advance though, and it set her nerves on edge.

“This was the point of your people coming to the summit, Clarke. Inclusion, at your request. This is what you wanted.”

“ _Lexa_.”

The commander sighed, letting one flash of regret and longing through before her emotionless mask descended again. Then she spoke, revealing what she needed, but even though the words come out slowly, clearly—so painfully clear—Clarke didn’t hear them, because she couldn’t believe that was what was being asked of her.

“This is what you wanted, Clarke!” Lexa called out behind her as she stormed out into the hall.

At that, Clarke broke out into a run, feet pounding against the dirt roads leading her away from her past, away from responsibility, away from the weight she hadn’t bore in so long.

 _This was what you wanted_.

It was a cruel truth, but a truth nonetheless, and it was one she would have to face eventually. She had another choice to make, and she didn’t have much time to decide.

For now, though, she just ran.

* * *

 Sidni was the one who found her, long after dinner. Only the faintest streaks of red were still fighting uselessly against the deep blue of descending night when the girl dropped down next to her. Mimicking Clarke, she let her legs dangle over the ledge of top floor of the highest building in Polis. She glanced at her, sighed, then glanced at her again. Clarke didn’t say anything, knowing the Sidni would break sooner or later. She was persistent, but never patient.

“Is this what the ground looked like from the Ark?” She finally asked, handing Clarke a large roll, no doubt snuck out of Caro’s larders.

“Not quite,” she answered, ripping off a piece and chewing on it. Her stomach growled in appreciation. The run earlier had worn her out.

“Better or worse?”

“Neither. Just—different.”

She offered Sidni a piece, which she took, and they ate in silence for a few moments.

“Caro was worried.”

Clarke snorted. “Sure she was.”

“She cares about you.”

Swallowing loudly, Clarke didn’t respond.

“What did the commander want from you?”

She shot Sidni an assessing look. “Just how often do you eavesdrop?”

“It was hard to miss the two guards at your door this morning,” the girl sniffed.

Clarke bit back a smile at her proud tone. “Just be careful. The commander has secrets for a reason.”

“So what did she want?”

“My help.”

“With what?”

“The Coalition.”

“And are you going to help her?”

Clarke fought the affirmative answer that wanted to burst from her lips, because she did want that, so badly, but she wasn’t sure what that aid would cost her (she was selfish, she was weak).

“Will you have to go away?” The quiet sadness in the girl’s voice tugged at Clarke’s heart.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said carefully, dancing as close to the truth as she dared.

“But you’re going to.”

“I have to.”

Sidni knocked her head against Clarke’s shoulder, sighing. “Do you really?”

Clarke closed her eyes, blocking out the expansive view of the city that had been her hideaway and sanctuary for so long. Her answer to the question turned bitter in her mouth because there was no truth to the _need to, have to_ justification easily rolling off her tongue.

She did not have to leave; she was choosing to, and somehow, that made it all the worse.

So she didn’t answer Sidni, just wrapped her arm around the girl’s frame, pulling her in close to watch the sun, in a muted and resigned blaze, set on her last day of freedom.


	5. Chapter 5

“An exchange program,” Bellamy repeated dubiously in the cavernous meeting room. “You want to instate an exchange program between the clans.”

Lexa just stared back at him from across the table, unmoved. Despite that, he had a feeling she would be rolling her eyes if they weren’t in a diplomacy meeting with the eleven other clan leaders.

“Between Skaikru and us, yes,” Lexa clarified, straightening in her seat. “We from the ground know each other. We already have an alliance. There is already trust forged between us.”

Bellamy noted the way Nia shifted at the commander’s words, as if itching to prove her wrong. After the first night, tensions between the two leaders had only grown, though it was a subtle swell of animosity, hidden under stoicism and honeyed words.

After a beat, Lexa pushed on. “You want Skaikru to be part of the Coalition? Then this is what needs to be done.”

“No,” Bellamy announced immediately. “It’s asking too much.”

“Your people would be safe with—”

“You don’t know that. What is to stop them from being used as leverage, as hostages, if we are suddenly not up to your standards as allies?”

“They would be under my protection. You have my word.”

“We’ve had your word before,” Bellamy growled, anger getting the best of him. “Didn’t work out too well for us last time.”

Lexa’s eyes flashed in response to his accusing challenge. One of her guards stepped forward, hand on his dagger’s hilt, but she raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“You will have the word of all twelve clans, not just mine, Bellamy kom Skaikru. Is that not enough for you?”

Several of the clan heads muttered under their breath, and Bellamy fought a grimace. Lexa was clever, twisting his criticism of her so it seemed he was questioning every leader. Grinding his teeth together, he scrambled to find a way out of her net. Luckily, Kane cleared his throat and stepped in.

“So we’ll have your word, but even if we do trust that, we will not force our people to participate if they do not want to. For most, coming to the ground was adventure enough. We will not ask them for more than they are willing to give freely.”

Bellamy jerked his head in a brief affirming nod, meeting Kane’s sidelong glance. His mind still raced, thought, because the only thing his words had bought them was a sliver of time to puzzle their way out of this situation. Kane and Lexa continued to go back and forth, and Bellamy continued to try and turn the proposition to their advantage.

“We do it in stages,” he interrupted suddenly, leaning forward on the table. All eyes swung to him, and he took a deep breath in. He had to get this right. “First, we have a contingent of your people stay with us at Camp Jaha, from the end of the summit until the middle of the fall. If that goes well, and only if, then we can talk about sending our people to you in return.”

Several of the leaders protested, but Bellamy spoke over them. “You say you want to build trust? Then think out it this way: we have more reason to betray you than you to betray us, after what happened at the mountain. We could retaliate at any time. Granted, at the moment we have no desire to, and we could tell you that until we run out of breath, but the best way to prove it is through action. So, if your people can complete a successful stay in our camp without major conflict, then that will prove Skaikru no longer holds a grudge against you and the Coalition. If your people can be safe with us, then you no longer have to consider retribution from us. And that is the point of all of this, yes? To bring us into the fold so we are no longer a wild card?”

Lexa stared at him appraisingly, and he swore he saw approval glimmer in her eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted it. “You make an interesting point. I’m inclined to consider it.”

“Floudonkru agrees,” Luna, the grey-haired but sharp-eyed clan head, proclaimed immediately.

To Bellamy’s relief, a few other clans chimed in their support, though his gut clenched when Nia acquiesced. There was something slippery about the woman that he didn’t like; Lexa, at least, was a predictable opponent, someone he could understand. There was a viciousness, a greediness to the Azgeda leader that made him uneasy. So he kept glancing her way as slowly the rest of the twelve gave their support to the proposal, but she didn’t reveal a thing, just kept staring serenely at the commander.

When the twelfth agreement came in, Bellamy exhaled, but his immediate relief waned as he started thinking of what this plan would actually mean for the camp. It would not be easy, having outsiders around. No doubt there would be altercations, instigated by both sides, and sorting them out was going to be a nightmare.

He said as much out loud, which launched them into an hours-long discussion regarding the parameters of the visitors’ stay—whether they would be allowed weapons (minimal), if they would be subject to the camp’s judicial system (yes for minor infractions, but major infractions would be handled by a panel of judges from all clans), which parties would be responsible for provisions (they could bring whatever they could carry, otherwise Camp Jaha would see to their needs), and when the exchange would end (Unity Day, they decided, yet another effort to mix their peoples’ traditions). His exhaustion was bone-deep by the time they finished, and even then, a final agreement still needed to be made officially.

“I will send a representative with the final proposal to your quarters this evening,” Lexa announced as she stood, effectively ending the meeting. “We expect your signatures by tomorrow midday.”

Bellamy traded a look with Kane, already knowing they were going to turn in the signed agreement not sooner than a minute before noon, just because they could. Then they shook on the terms, making the proposal official.

Peace always came with a cost, and Bellamy knew that. He just hoped his people wouldn’t have to pay the price for his plan.

* * *

 

They had lit the candles to chase away the summer darkness after dinner when Sergeant Miller entered the tent, expression tight.

“The messenger?” Kane prompted, pushing out of his chair to stand.

The sergeant hesitated, and a thousand thoughts flew through Bellamy’s head: _lulled us into feeling safe, betrayal already, soldiers outside, it had been a ruse_. Grimacing, he reached for his knife, because should have been expecting a sucker punch like this. The Grounders weren’t to be trusted.

Instead of warriors pushing through the tent flap, though, it was Clarke who pushed inside, almost impatiently. Somehow, that blow was even worse. The surprise of seeing her, and the grim expression she wore, sucked the air from his lungs. The only thing left behind by the vacuum was anger, because this was low, even for Lexa.

“I asked to come,” Clarke said, tipping her chin up defiantly. It was in his direction in particular, and he hated that she could apparently still read him so well.

No one said a word, all just staring in disbelief. Raven lurched forward, as if to greet her, but then steadied herself. Seven months was a long time.

With barely a pause, Clarke pushed onward. “Here is the agreement, word for word from this afternoon. I checked it myself.”

“Is that really your place anymore?” Octavia asked bluntly, snatching the rolled paper from Clarke.

Her expression remained steady, but Bellamy saw her hand spasm and flex. “I wasn’t about to let Lexa send me in blind.”

“She didn’t mind the last time,” Octavia muttered darkly under her breath, though she kept her eyes down.

At that, Clarke swallowed thickly, then straightened. “There’s something else.”

“I can see that,” Octavia said warily, glancing at him before snapping her gaze back to Clarke. “It’s not exactly the same agreement, is it?”

Bellamy was at his sister's side in an instant, skimming through the carefully written text, until he found what he was looking for.

“You can’t be serious.”

Clarke just stared at him blankly. “It’s for the best, Bellamy. You know that—“

“So now you want to come back? Why? For _them_?” He barked, paper crinkling in his hand.

“You’re coming back?” Raven exclaimed, jaw dropping in shock.

Her voice and Kane’s voice started to mix together as they blurted questions, but Bellamy shouted them down.

“Why?” He demanded, staring at Clarke. “Why now?”

As always, she didn’t give him an inch, just glared right back. In fact, her blue gaze, as determined and dangerous as ever, made him feel as if he were the one losing ground. “They won’t trust you, but they will trust me,” she offered quietly. “And they need to trust somebody if this is going to work.”

“They need to trust the _Ark_ ,” Octavia added pointedly. Clarke grimaced, not missing his sister’s subtle accusation.

“Bellamy,” she pleaded, and his heart sank. Of course this would be his decision; it couldn’t be any other way with them. He felt frustration well up in his stomach, because she didn’t have the right to turn to him in that way. Not anymore.

“It’s only temporary,” she added, and he swore her voice cracked a little bit. “I’ll leave when they leave. I’m not looking to—I’m not trying to—“ she cut off, swallowing thickly. “I can’t stay. I won’t. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Tense silence filled the tent as he fought against the surprising disappointment at her words, wanting to be relieved by them instead. They had built a good thing without her. Bellamy knew that deep in his bones; he also knew that her return might upset the balance they had established. He didn’t want that, and their people couldn’t afford that.

He could see it though: Clarke as a bridge between their people. Both sides trusted her—with a few exceptions, as some of the delinquents had felt abandoned, plus there was Jasper—and not even he could promise to be all that welcoming to their visitors. There was no choice to make, really, not if he wanted this treaty to work.

“Alright,” he breathed, steeling himself against the sudden shock in her eyes. She apparently hadn’t expected to win him over. Her surprise was a small, selfish consolation for him, that maybe she didn’t know him all that well after all. “Alright. We agree.”

He felt his sister stiffen beside him, and Raven shift uneasily in her seat. It was Kane who backed him, dropping a quick comment about Abby that had Clarke looking away from all of them for a moment.

“You’re leaving at sunrise the day after tomorrow?” She finally asked, voice suspiciously even.

“We’re meeting the visitors outside the main gate to travel together,” Kane confirmed.

“I’ll be with them,” Clarke promised, nodding once before turning on her heel. Her sudden absence was just as shocking as her entrance, and Bellamy stared at the waving canvas, watching her silhouette retreat into the night.

“Well, shit,” Wick murmured after a beat.

“Shit is right,” Raven grumbled, standing and clapping Bellamy on the shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He flipped her off as she and Wick exited, earning an arched brow from Kane and a dark huff from Octavia. Then he fell back into his chair and stared dully at the ground, not quite realizing the rest of his companions had slowly filtered out one by one, as the hour was growing late.

From the doorway, Lincoln’s voice startled him. “She looks—“

“Looks what?” Bellamy murmured, glancing up at the man. Lincoln regarded him carefully, brow furrowing as he searched for words.

“She looks—lost.”

“She seems to have found her place here just fine.”

Lincoln sighed at his bitter tone, flexing a grim smile in his direction. “Look harder, then.”

Bellamy frowned as he watched the flap close behind his back, not liking how Lincoln’s advice was aligning too closely with the voices in his own head, voices he was trying to stifle. His people came first, and he wasn’t about to let anything, not even Clarke, get in the way of that.

_His people, his responsibility._

That was how she had wanted it anyways, so in the candlelight, he promised himself that that was how it would stay. If she was lost, she would have to find her own way back. He couldn’t be her compass, not this time.


	6. Chapter 6

Bird calls, the footsteps of their horses, and the crackling of underbrush were the only sounds Clarke could hear in the muggy morning. Silence had overtaken the mixed group of Grounders and Arkers not long after they had left Polis. It unsettled her, and she wished that was only because she had become used to the noise of city life in Polis. The wary looks between the two sides, however, only made the tense quiet tighten her gut into more knots.

Leaning her head back to glare at the sky, she shifted in the saddle. Clarke was already tired of staring at the back of the same heads, but they had days more to go before reaching Camp Jaha. Her horse stumbled, and she jerked her gaze back to where it was supposed to be. Nothing had changed. Kane and Bellamy were leading their entire procession, Raven and Wick in the middle with the wagon, with Octavia and Lincoln right in front of her and the Grounders behind. Various guards flanked them on all sides up until her horse. The Grounders didn’t want the extra protection, and the guards were more than happy to leave them to their own devices. Apparently the burgeoning trust that the Ark had in Trigedakru did not extend to the other tribes, at least not yet. That was the whole point of this exchange program after all.

Soft murmurings of the Grounder contingent reached her. She tried to parse out each individual’s voice, but it was difficult, as she knew very few of them. Eirin had agreed to come at her request. She figured it would be helpful to bring a healer, someone innocuous, as the rest of the group was sure to be made up of some of the best warriors from each clan. She knew Juleea and Nayt too. They were part of Lexa’s personal guard; they were eager, ambitious, and fiercely loyal to the commander. Nayt was quiet and Juleea was definitely not. She was one of the ones talking now. The other voice was low, rough, and biting. Clarke frowned, seeing a bearded face in her memory. He was from the valley clan, tall and lean with sharp features. He had been the one to refuse Kane’s handshake and knock aggressively into Bellamy as they gathered into the procession. More than a few others had followed his lead before Octavia had stepped in their way with barbed words and a fierce glare.

Another voice hushed the valley warrior and Juleea, and she identified it as coming from a soft-spoken warrior from Azgeda. He was stoic, unlike his leader Nia, not giving a flicker of emotion away in his expressions. Clarke didn’t know whether that was better or worse than the queen’s habit of smiling at you brightly when you knew what she really wanted to do was stick a knife in your back. He hadn’t been one of the ones to follow the valley warrior’s lead but he had also spent most of Kane’s introduction sharpening his knife instead of listening. Clarke knew more than a few Azgeda members whom she got on well with, but with this one, she still needed more time to decide.

She smiled grimly. Whether or not she got on well with him, or the rest of them, didn’t matter much. All that mattered was her ability to act as a mediating influence for the Grounders, for the Arkers, for everyone. They didn’t need to be friends; they just needed to be allies.

_How the hell she had ended up in this position again?_

Her gaze drifted towards a head of curly brown hair set on broad shoulders. Clarke sighed, straightening in her saddle.

They had hours to go before setting up camp for the night. It was going to be a long day, long trip, and an even longer summer.

* * *

There were two fires that night: a large one for the Grounders, a smaller one for the Arkers. Clarke shouldn’t have been surprised. She kept glancing over at the smaller one, at the way Raven and Wick sat huddled on a log together. The orange glow flickered over Octavia’s face, creating shadows under her eyes and highlighting new scars on her cheeks. She caught her and Kane’s glance a few times, shaking her head when he started to come over. His attempt at reaching out this morning had been enough; someone else needed to make an effort to show that all of the Arkers were on board with this alliance.

She never crossed glances with Bellamy. He was looking anywhere but her, and Clarke felt her shoulders tense up. She was starting to question if his acceptance of her return had been too easily won. Again, she reminded herself that no one here—Grounder or Arker—had to get along with her. They just had to tolerate her presence well enough to let this alliance succeed.

As if reading her unease, Lincoln quietly rose and approached their group. Juleea stiffened as he stood next to Clarke, but Nayt gave him a welcoming nod. Lincoln’s status as a defector was well known; he was legend in Polis, actually. Some called him traitor, while some called him brave. She hoped that she could still call him friend.

“Everyone is mostly well at camp,” he said softly. When she sent him a grateful smile, he continued, “There may be some resistance to this endeavor, but the camp was won over before when Trikru extended help this winter. They will be won over again.”

“Will they?” Clarke replied dryly. “I feel like trading supplies is a far cry from living next door to each other.”

“They won’t have a choice.”

“And that makes people more amenable?”

“Optimistic as ever, I see.”

Clarke huffed under her breath, a soft tendril of amusement winding its way through her. Then she sobered, staring into the fire. “I don’t have a great track record with things like this.”

“I think the one-hundred would disagree. They’re alive because of the choices that you made.”

Ducking her head, she scuffed her boot against the ground angrily. The guilt now coiling in her stomach was familiar, and she let it gather, waiting for its striking bite of regret that usually followed. When Lincoln’s hand rested on her shoulder though, squeezing tightly in solidarity and apology, she blew out a deep breath. The guilt lost its sting.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to—I’m sorry.”

She threw a wan smile at him. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Nor the last, I feel.”

“It is okay to feel the dark inside you. As long as you don’t forget to feel the light too.”

She swallowed tightly at this words. With one last knowing glance, Lincoln stood.

“Sleep well,” she murmured as he walked away, because at least one of them should be well rested tonight.

She knew it wasn’t going to be her, and as she settled down into her sleeping roll, Clarke wondered why she even bothered trying to close her eyes. Cricket chirps sounded quietly in the background as the breathing of one after another traveler slowed. Only embers burned darkly in the fires now, the warm glow contrasting against the silver shine of the moon that played off the black-green leaves and pine branches. Sighing, she fidgeted against the hard ground for a minute before rolling over.

Her breath caught when her gaze connected with Bellamy’s. His eyes snapped shut immediately, but not before she saw the concern and accusation warring there. Clarke curled her knees up to her chest, stubbornly ignoring the urge to call out to him, to scream at him. So instead, she closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would eventually come and stop her from asking herself how the two of them had ended up on different sides.

* * *

Once they were a day away from camp, Sergeant Miller sent a scout ahead to announce their arrival. The Arkers should already be expecting the additional guests; Clarke knew Bellamy had sent a guard out with the news for the camp to prepare as soon as they had signed the agreement.

That meant there was no escaping from the grand entrance of arriving at Camp Jaha.

A dull pounding started in her head after Kane announced they needed to pick up the pace if they wanted to make it there by nightfall. As everyone obliged, Nayt and Juleea rode up to her sides, flanking her.

“How much you want to bet they have guns trained on us the minute we come out of the tree line?”

Clarke shot her a sharp look as Nayt argued, “This is a peace agreement, Jules.”

“But we are not at peace yet.”

“They’ll be wary,” Clarke interrupted. “But the rules were set out: If any Arker pulls a weapon on a Grounder without serious, verifiable provocation, they will be subject to trial by all the clans.”

“Even if they pulled a weapon, I’d still be the one left standing at the end,” Juleea boasted with a tight grin.

Nayt sighed heavily. Clarke cleared her throat, then continued, “ _And_ any Grounder will be held to that same standard.”

Juleea’s smile just widened, a daring glint in her eye.

“Are you going to be the one to fail the Commander by breaking the terms just for pride?” Nayt demanded sharply.

“It might be worth it,” Julee sniped.

A few chuckles rumbled from behind them, followed by a piercing, approving whistle. Turning, Clarke saw Brenn—the valley warrior—and Erik—the Ice Nation warrior—right behind them, looking on with interest.

“It will not be worth it. Not to you, to your people, or to your commander,” Clarke announced loudly, clearly. “To any of you,” she emphasized, calling behind her.

A few dissenting grumbles answered, but her glare silenced any more from escaping. When she faced front, she started at seeing Bellamy heading towards them.

“Everything alright?” He asked abruptly, circling his horse around to ride beside Nayt.

Clarke licked her dry lips. “We’re fine.”

“It’s not much longer. They know what’s in store at camp?”

“I filled them in last night.” Kane had relayed the details of the Grounder quarters—some of the old cabins that others had moved out of once new ones had been built this spring—and other related topics to her during yesterday’s ride. Clarke had conveyed that to the Grounders around the fire last night, with Octavia and Wick adding in more info as they ate.

“Good. I’m sure the cabins have been repaired to make them as good as possible on short notice. They were more unfit for winter residence than anything. They should be fine for you all to stay in for a few months.”

“We’ll be gone long before the first snowfall,” Juleea said. “That you can be sure of.”

Bellamy jerked his glance away from Clarke, then clucked at his horse. He trotted away, up to the front again with Kane.

“Doesn’t like us much, does he?” Nayt said drily.

“Bellamy will make sure we’re accepted.”

“Like you have anything to worry about,” Juleea grumbled. “These are your people.”

Clarke bit her lip instead of responding, watching the easy way Wick made Sergeant Miller laugh, and how Octavia and Lincoln threw an apple between them, alternating bites.

These were her people, but she didn’t know if she was considered theirs anymore.

* * *

They were only a few hours from camp when the back of Clarke’s neck prickled with awareness. With a silent hand motion to Nayt, she gestured for him to scout. Immediately he dismounted, tossing her the reins before he stalked off into the woods.

“What’s wrong?” Erik muttered as he pulled his horse up next to hers.

“Shut up,” she responded, waving him away.

He just frowned at her, but didn’t leave. They hadn’t gone more than a few paces in silence, however, when soft cries—the cries of children—echoed from behind them.

Juleea was off like a shot, her horse leaping over the underbrush to reach Nayt.

Octavia was soon with them, yelling. “What the hell is going on?”

“Was that kids I heard?” Sergeant Miller demanded, face tense and fearful.

Clarke swallowed tightly. They were close enough to Camp Jaha, that maybe, maybe there were kids from the Ark out in the forest, and guards with the kids, and if they didn’t know Nayt was on their side--

 _Hell_ , Clarke thought, her stomach twisting in anticipation. Octavia was still yelling, trying to get around Erik who was blocking her from following Juleea.

“Seems like we have some shadows.”

Everyone froze when Nayt emerged, sporting a gash on his face, but carrying one child and propelling another forward by a tight grip on her shoulder.

“Sidni?” Clarke asked in shock. She quickly realized Aidin was the one in Nayt’s arms.

By the time she dismounted, Juleea was back too, also on the ground, leading her horse to them along with a few of the other kids from Caro’s.

Clarke muttered profanities under her breath as she strode forward, bending down to glare at Sidni.

“Just what do you think you’re doing here?” She asked sternly.

Sidni just looked at her, seemingly unfazed. Clarke didn’t miss the way her hands clenched at her pants or how her eyes glimmered too wetly.

“Why did you leave?” She tried again.

Sidni reached for her hesitantly, then launched herself at Clarke, small arms twining around her next. Clarke let out a reluctant, understanding sigh and hugged her back.

Even so, she couldn’t help admonish the girl when she pulled back. “It was dangerous, what you did. You could’ve been attacked by an animal, or gotten lost.”

“I know how to track!”

Clarke bit back a smile, because it was true. Sidni was a great tracker for someone her age. “And can you fend off a panther? Or a bear?”

“I got _him_ in the face.”

Clarke jerked up to look at Nayt, whose face was pinched into a disgruntled expression. Aidin chuckled.

“She got you,” the boy affirmed with a grin, clearly proud of his sister. Nayt just frowned harder.

“Clarke?”

She craned her head around to see Kane and everybody else staring at her in confusion, while the Grounders looked on, a little smug. These kids weren’t from any of their clans, but they had managed to tail the procession without being noticed until now. They could take a certain amount of pride in that.

Sighing, she stood, wrapping an arm around Sidni’s shoulders in solidarity. “Looks like we might have to find some more cabins. It appears our visitor number has grown.”

Kane raised his eyebrows amusedly, and Sergeant Miller looked as if he was trying not to laugh. Octavia looked impressed, and Lincoln outright pleased.

As they dispersed, shaking their heads, it was Bellamy that caught her attention though. He was staring at her, hard, a bit shocked, as if he was seeing someone else entirely. She shifted uneasily, her palm growing damp against Sidni’s shirt. The girl leaned into her, head resting against her ribcage. Then Bellamy’s expression went blank again, and he turned around without a word.

“We’re really coming with you?”

“Get up on the horse, Sidni.”

Clarke had to help her up, of course, keeping an eye on the rest of the kids as they partnered up with the Grounder adults. They all seemed more excited than nervous now, which was a relief.

Clark felt tenser than ever, though, as she mounted up behind Sidni, wrapping her arms around the girl to grip the reins and get them moving again. It was one thing to bring warriors into Camp Jaha under tentative peace; it was a whole other mess to bring kids. Still, it would be more complicated—and probably a futile effort—to spare the personnel and time to return them.

“How much longer?” Sidni chirped.

“Not long now,” Clarke answered, her knuckles turning white from how hard she gripped the reins. “Not long now at all.”

* * *

As Clarke set the tiny lamp down on the cabin floor by her sleeping roll, she again thanked her lucky stars for the silence that was finally surrounding her.

It was hot and dark in the little cabin, the humid summer wind blowing through the small cracks in the wooden siding. She didn’t dare open the shutters of the tiny window. The fires in the yard were still going, and she didn’t want to see them nor hear the laughter and chatter of the people surrounding them.

Tonight, alone in her cabin on the edge of camp, she wanted quiet. She wanted quiet from everything else because the thoughts in her head were buzzing so loudly and demandingly that any more noise might cause her to scream.

Her head throbbed as she leaned down to untie her boots, boots that had stiffly walked her into camp that afternoon. Over six months gone, and now she was treading this ground again. It had been hard and rocky when she left; now her soles sunk into the softness of the soil worn down by so many people passing over it daily.

She had seen the things before the people: a greenhouse, a guardhouse, an outdoor patio that no doubt led into a mess hall, the stables next to the garage for the two jeeps they had managed to repair (Raven’s doing no doubt). She had been so busy staring at this place that looked like a home—but not hers—that she hadn’t seen her mother coming.

The hug had been tight and unyielding, and her mother’s tears hot and heavy as they soaked into the crook of her neck. Clarke hadn’t known what to do so she had just stood there, letting her mother cling to her in the middle of the yard. When she had pulled back, her hands had run everywhere: shoulders, cheeks, hair, eyebrows, elbows. As if making sure her daughter was all there. That was when Clarke started avoiding her gaze, because if her mother was searching for missing pieces, all she had to do was look her in the eye to know exactly which part of her was still broken.

Monty had been next, nearly knocking her over when he barreled into her. When she had left, his hug had been a weak thing. Now, he felt strong as steel, and she nearly choked on the realization that he had become so rough around the edges while she was gone.

Soon after there was Raven, who hadn’t hugged her, just stared at her with angry but relieved tears. Clarke had nodded hello, offering an apologetic grimace to the girl who had been left so many times before, to who she had always promised to pick first. Broken promises were hard to make up for, but the way Raven softened right before she looked away told Clarke that she at least had a chance.

Other hugs and smiles—mostly from the remaining hundred—had come her way after that. A few Arkers had stared warily, suspiciously, especially when the Grounders started to proceed farther into the camp.

She ignored the whispers and hard looks as word spread farther around camp. It appeared the Council had kept the news of the deal on lockdown, probably to prevent any objections until they had arrived and it was already too late. She grudgingly approved, even if it would probably make those against this agreement more resentful for the secrecy and surprise.

The Ark may be on Earth now, but it looked like not much had changed when it came to their way of life.

It wasn’t until she saw Bellamy talking intensely with Kane and the other Council members, and them actually listening to him, that she realized maybe things were more different than they appeared. Her heart twisted suddenly, a mix of satisfaction that others finally saw what she had—not a rebel with rage burning in his belly but a leader who gave his entire heart and soul for his people—and sadness that she had missed his ascension.

As she sat in the cabin now, she ran her fingers over the wooden walls. They had built this, all of them, together. Without her. And it was beautiful.

 _Without you_ , a nasty voice taunted, somehow louder than all the other screams in her head.

When the soft knock came at her door a little while later, Clarke kept quiet. Even when her mother called out her name, pleading to open up, she didn’t say a word.

Instead, she blew out the candle and laid down on her sleeping roll, sequestering herself away from the life nearly bursting from every corner of the camp. She struggled to breathe, the vitality of the place nearly as cloying as the humidity and scent of damp earth and skin that lingered within the fences. Clarke curled up into a ball, knees to her chest, making herself small, because otherwise, she wasn’t sure there was room enough in this thriving place for her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy isn't doing particularly well dealing with the Grounders being in camp--or with Clarke being back for that matter, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter will make more sense if you've read the prequel fic 'this is the road to ruin' - not *really* necessary but it will definitely help :)

Bellamy looked at the delinquents starting at him silently and sighed. He knew they had heard what he said, what he had explained in great detail regarding their summer with the Grounders. It shouldn’t have been groundbreaking news, because their scout had returned almost two weeks ago. They knew the Grounders were coming, and why. Still, they were looking at him warily in the small Ark meeting room, as if it was a sudden surprise they now had members of all the clans in their midst.

“How much are we supposed to interact with them?” Monroe questioned, elbows braced on her knees.

“That’s something the Council is still figuring out. You won’t be forced to do anything, I’ll make sure of that.”

“But if none of us want to, doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose?” Harper chimed in with a furrowed brow.

“Then I’ll have to get down on my knees and beg for some help, and nobody wants to see that,” he joked, but his voice sounded weary even to his own ears. It still got a chuckle or two from the delinquents though, and an eye roll from Miller. “Three months isn’t too bad, guys. They’ll be gone before we know it. Now get on with your days. We’ll talk again later tonight.”

He waved them away, and the tension broke as chatter and the sounds of them gathering their things filled the room. Bellamy watched them file out, hands crossed over his chest as he began to figure out the rest of his day. Soon it was only Miller left as he shrugged on his guard jacket.

“I’m assuming you and I will be organizing some type of training course to teach and learn from them?” he asked.

Bellamy nodded, thankful at least one person was going to make this easy on him. “Figured it’d be a good place to find common ground. Bonus, it’s practically poetic: former enemies helping each other become better fighters. That’ll be one for our history books. Also Raven said plenty of them were interested in the shock batons at the summit, so we should include how to use those in the lessons I suppose. I doubt any of them will touch a gun, though, not even now.”

Miller nodded, but he still lingered, almost cautiously.

Sighing, Bellamy announced, “Just spit it out, Miller.”

“Monty made me promise to ask,” he shot back. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve got a dozen or so Grounders in the middle of camp and I have to figure out a way to have us all singing songs together around the fire like one big happy family in just three months. How do you think I’m doing?”

Miller shot him an exasperated look. “Fine. You’re going to make me say it. How are you doing with Clarke here?”

He hated the way his pulse spiked at her name, his skin prickling hotly, uncomfortably at the thought of her being back here, in camp, again. “It’s fine. Like I said, it’s only three months.”

As he turned to gather his things, pointedly not looking at Miller, his friend asked quietly, “You really don’t think she’s going to stay?”

“Tell Monty I stopped trying to figure out what she was going to do a long time ago, but she didn’t stay before. I have no reason to see why she would stay now.”

Bellamy strode past Miller and his concerned expression without another word. He picked up his pace so he would be among the busier part of the Ark soon, around people and thus forced to focus on something other than the question he sorely wished Miller had not asked.

* * *

 

His jaw worked as he approached the guard and Grounder glaring at each other outside the guard post.

“What’s the problem, Davis?” he asked, stepping up to them.

“The problem,” the Grounder--Brenn, he finally recalled--spat out, “is that this idiot has got my people on laundry duty for three whole weeks and says he isn’t particularly inclined to change that fact.”

Bellamy shot a tired look at a smugly belligerent Davis. “Give me the task list,” he demanded. Davis hesitated, and he stuck out his hand for the tablet impatiently. “Now, Davis.”

With a few clicks, Bellamy had rearranged the schedule back to an appropriate balance of camp chores for everyone.

“What about your people not showing up on time for any of your responsibilities the last week?” Davis growled at Brenn as he snatched the tablet back. “Do you think you can just do whatever, whenever you want? We have a schedule for a reason.”

“The tasks got done by the end of the day regardless,” Brenn snapped.

“Sure, they got done, but only because we rearranged things to make sure your tardiness didn’t delay us!”

“Shut it, both of you,” Bellamy interrupted as the men opened their mouths to yell some more. “Brenn, we do need you to keep to our schedule. If it happens again--”

“You’ll do what?” he challenged.

“I’ll bring your case to the Council and let them decide the punishment, as we do have authority to rule on small matters here,” Bellamy warned.

“Or we could just ask Raven to distribute some watches to our visitors.”

The three of them turned to see Clarke approaching. With a tight smile, she turned to Brenn. “Don’t hesitate to ask for the technology that you need from them, or come to me and I’ll ask them for it. It can be hard for them to remember how different things are outside these walls.”

Brenn nodded, Davis rolled his eyes, and Bellamy just stared at Clarke, feeling his shoulders rise tensely. He had been handling this, and it bothered him that she felt she had the authority to barge in with an apparent solution.

“Watches would help,” Brenn relented. “We will try to make more of an effort.”

Davis just shrugged and walked off, and Clarke narrowed her gaze at his retreating back. Brenn slipped away too, and Bellamy was left alone with her.

“Do your guards have to be so damn antagonistic?” she muttered.

“They’re hosting unwanted visitors,” Bellamy snapped. “What did you expect?”

She jerked her gaze up to him, brow pinched. “We all agreed to this arrangement. _You_ came up with it.”

“Just because a leader makes a choice doesn’t mean the people are going to follow,” he retorted. He felt her start a bit at his words, and he chewed the inside of his lip, hating how close they were dancing to a past he wasn’t quite ready to face yet.

“I know it’s only been a week, but we can’t let these petty disagreements over camp chores and dining privileges continue. We all need this to work--”

“Don’t tell me what my people need.” He glared at her, resenting the surprise and hurt flaring in her eyes. “You focus on taking care of your people, and I’ll take care of mine. There won’t be any scheduling problems from here on out.”

With that clipped response, he turned and strode away, trying to shake off the creeping feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time he and Clarke clashed over mediating between the two factions in the camp.

* * *

 

It wasn’t the last time. Clarke seemed to pop up everywhere, interjecting herself into conflict after conflict. Grudgingly he appreciated that she seemed fairly unbiased in calling both Grounders and Arkers on their bullshit, but he didn’t appreciate it when she contradicted decisions he made regarding solutions to disagreements.

He could have just talked to her about it, but every time he set out to walk to her cabin, he couldn’t bring himself to enter the visitors area. It felt wrong to even have her in the camp, and it felt even more wrong that he had to go _there_ to find her.

So instead, he started doing what she was doing: inserting himself into her conversations, her solutions, until they were sniping at each other long after the initial conflicts had been resolved. He could see how hard she always tried to stay calm, stay reasonable. She would concede to his interruptions at first, but then he took the advantage and kept pushing, pushing, pushing, until she would finally snap and tell him to butt the hell out.

“You need to stop, man,” Miller finally told him one night over a few cups of moonshine. “I get that you’re pissed at her. Hell, even Monty shut her down the other day when she overstepped. But honestly, you two are arguing more than any two other parties in the camp and it’s not helping anything.”

“If she would just mind her own--”

“I know,” Miller interrupted. “Trust me, I know. But you’re on the Council, and the guards look to you for their cues on how to treat this whole mess. There’s been talk…”

“What kind of talk?” Bellamy demanded, tension curling in his gut.

“I shut it down, don’t worry. Nothing serious, just--venting frustrations. The usual shit. But they see you exploding all over camp, and it sets a tone, you know?”

“Fuck.” Bellamy downed the last of his drink. “I can’t help it.”

“Find a way. Spend some more time out on scouting missions, yell at each other in private, hell, even dodge her around camp, I don’t care. Just don’t air your dirty laundry with her in public anymore, unless you want this whole thing to fail.”

Bellamy nodded sullenly, then quirked a half-smile at his friend. “Thanks. I mean it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll always call you out when you’re being a shithead,” Miller said as he clinked their cups together.

“Asshole,” Bellamy responded, but it was with a grin.

Miller smiled too, taking another sip of his drink as Bellamy did the same.

* * *

 

So he avoided Clarke, at least as much as he could. There were still council meetings they had to attend (ones that still felt strange for them to be at the table together but not side by side) and hallways to pass each other by in with merely a nod. Still, he stopped baiting her whenever his and her people clashed, grudgingly recognizing that acceptance was coming from both sides, bit by bit, with their own effort to keep things civil. Clarke would shoot him a wary look from time to time, across a fire or a bustling mess hall, calculating and somewhat confused. She was trying to figure him out; good luck with that, he knew, because it was something he couldn’t quite put his own finger on.

For a week he did so well, and then came the weapons lesson. Miller hadn’t been exaggerating when he said there was dissention in the ranks when it came to the Grounders, and Bellamy had a harder time than he expected wrangling volunteers to teach. Still, he managed to find a few willing people, adding himself into that mix for good measure. Clarke was there, too, but he was careful to make sure they ended up on opposite ends of the instructors line.

It wasn’t as easy as he thought, though, to put guns in the hands of their visitors. He knew it was part of the arrangement--exchange of customs and knowledge and all. Yet his spine stiffened in a way he couldn’t explain when he saw those earth-worn hands grasp the barrels and their calloused fingers wrap around the triggers.

The way Clarke spoke to them too made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Soft, encouraging, gently teasing--her voice called back another lesson, another era, another life almost.

And as careful as he had been, they somehow ended up correcting stances and grips right next to one another, and on a break where the guards and warriors eyed each other warily from their separate circles, she ambled up to his side.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” she remarked evenly.

Bellamy took another sip of water before responding. “What?”

“Grounders holding guns.”

A snort escaped him, derisive and disbelieving. Clarke turned toward him frowning. He worked his jaw as he fought against a response.

“What?” She prodded.

He shrugged, trying to remembered Miller’s warning even as annoyance flared in his chest. She just turned towards him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes widening expectantly.

“Just would’ve been nice,” he muttered. “If they had had the guts to learn this shit before the mountain. Then maybe they would’ve had the balls to stand and fight.”

“It wasn’t their--”

“Don’t,” he snapped loudly, drawing more than a few looks from the two groups. “Just don’t.”

“It wasn’t _their_ fault,” she argued, voice tight. She stepped closer, cheeks reddening with anger. “They had no choice but to obey their commander and retreat. And besides guns wouldn’t have solved anything. You damn well know that.”

He scoffed again, repressing the shiver from the memory of cold mountain air and bone-deep fear even as the summer sun beat down on them. “I damn well know guns might have evened the odds, maybe even convinced Lexa to keep her word. Though I suppose a coward always--”

“You don’t know--”

“We should never have made that deal,” he interrupted.

“You mean _I_ should have never made that deal,” she snapped.

He laughed, meanly, because it always came down to the same thing, didn’t it? Clarke always had to make sure she stood alone. “Yes, _you_ should never have made that deal,” he spat back.

Clarke flinched unexpectedly at his words. In an instant, her entire expression shuttered, her shoulders hunched, and she stepped further away from him.

“Break’s over,” she announced in a hard tone as she turned away from him.

For a moment Bellamy thought about reaching out, catching her arm, telling her he hadn’t meant to let those accusing words slip out like that, hadn’t meant to put so much hurt behind them. Then again, she probably hadn’t _meant_ to stay away so many months and hadn’t _meant_ to overstep her boundaries in the past few weeks of her temporary return. She _had_ done those things, though, and it carved away a little bit more of his sympathy every time his gaze caught on the flash of her gold hair from across camp.

So he stayed where he was, letting her retrieve the groups and organize them back into place. When she picked her student to work on, he moved three down, keeping his eyes on the guns and the Grounders instead of the girl who had left him behind.

* * *

 

Avoidance worked for another week, but then he found himself watching Clarke in small moments. He barely realized he was doing it, looking away quickly when he did notice. She still worked with fast but sure hands, putting a gun together as easily as she wrapped bandages, and she still spoke with authority, even if her voice was a little bit quieter now. Her smile was very different though. Bellamy didn’t know if it was their time apart or the weight of the things she has done that changed it. Maybe he just couldn’t remember what Clarke used to look like happy (and when did he ever think he could count their dropship days as happy). Regardless, the most unsettling facet of that change was that her smiles were rarely directed at anyone not from the ground. Monty received an upturn of her lips once in awhile, but that was it. Her chin lifted around Kane, her head dipped around Raven, and her eyes clouded around her mother. Around him--well, he wasn’t around her much anymore. That was the whole point.

It should have been easier to keep distance at night. There was no need for them to interact at all, and Bellamy should have been able to put her out of his mind completely. After dinner, when the camp would quiet and activity slowed, Clarke returned to the Grounders’ cluster of temporary homes, and he stayed on his side of the camp near the delinquents’ own set of cabins. It was the same as it had been while they were traveling. Two fires, two groups, one of the two of them belonging to each. So it should have been easier, having a whole camp in between them, having flickering flames and fast friends to draw his attention. Instead, the wink of yellow--their fire, her hair--would catch the corner of his eye, a distraction and a menace and a habit he couldn’t break.

Watching her with them was a dangerous game he played. To see her talk and joke and even laugh with them made him clench his jaw. She was at peace with them, and not just in a political sense. With them, Clarke was everything she should be by now: hardened but healed, burdened but balanced. She was that girl, but only around her new people, not his, not the ones that used to be theirs. That fact dug into his chest, a wound that grew sharper and deeper with every night that passed.

“Stop it,” Octavia finally muttered one night. She kicked his leg for good measure until he looked over at her and frowned.

“What?”

“Stop giving a shit about her. She’s doing just fine. She doesn’t--she’s fine.”

_She doesn’t need you to take care of her._ Bellamy knew his sister well enough to hear the words she was too kind to say. He had learned this lesson already with Octavia, but this, with Clarke, it was different. And it wasn’t about _her_ needing _him_. The look his sister gave him--exasperated, sympathetic, a little bit pissed off--told him she knew him just as well.

“You want another drink?” There wasn’t much else he could say, or much else he was ready to say.

Octavia shrugged as he stood. “Sure, but this is your last one. I’m counting how many you’ve had, big brother. You’re doing alright for now, but don’t push it.”

Bellamy chuckled, softly flicking the braided side of her head before walking away with their cups. He made a pointed effort to not look over in the direction he very much wanted to. Octavia’s words still rang too loudly in his head. Instead, he let his gaze drift across the camp, seeing Abby chatting with Jackson and Raven at one tiny fire, Kane playing cards with some of the guards at another. Young giggles caught his attention next, and he stopped at the fire where a small group of young kids had gathered. He did a double-take when he realized they weren’t just Arker children, but some of the Grounder tagalongs that had followed Clarke to camp too. It took him by surprise, not just to see them intermingling but to not have recognized the difference, so much so that he stopped in his tracks.

“Bellamy!”

He smiled at the calling girl--Jessa, he thought, one of the Council member’s daughters--and waved.

“Come here, please?”

Obliging, he walked up and crouched down next to one of the logs they were using for a bench. “What’s up?”

The red-haired girl grinned shyly at him as she spoke, words tumbling out quickly. “What’s the name of the guy who got lost in that maze thing? It sounds kind of like Thelonoius, but not really--”

“Theseus?”

“That’s it!” Then she turned to one of the Grounder kids, grinning as she enunciated, “Thee-see-us. That was the name.”

One of them piped up, “Did he _really_ kill a bull with legs?”

“All bulls have legs. It was a man-bull!”

Bellamy stifled a laugh at the way the kids were going back and forth, sobering when he realized they were looking at him expectantly. “It was a half-man, half-bull, yes. Called a minotaur.” He repeated the name slower when Jessa asked, nodding when she repeated it correctly.

Jessa smiled in proud satisfaction at the way the Grounder kids’ eyes widened. “Cooler than a two-tailed fox, right?”

“But I actually saw a two-tailed fox,” the Grounder boy argued. “It was real, not like the mino...mino...”

“Taur,” Bellamy finished for him with a gentle smile.

Jessa huffed, rolling her eyes. “But the minotaur is still cooler. Right, Bellamy?”

“I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully. “My sister saw a two-headed deer our first week on the ground and she made it sound pretty cool.”

He bit back another chuckle at the way some of the kids’ mouths dropped open (also at the memory of Octavia describing the deer as _pretty fucking creepy_ but that wasn’t quite how he wanted to say it to the kids now).

“I still think a minotaur is cooler,” the girl argued.

“What about a nine-headed snake?” Bellamy added to distract her as his mind filled with the stories that used to take him and Octavia away from their little room as kids.

A mixture of impressed reactions in the Ark languages and Trigedasleng rose up from the group of children. As calls of _wait what!_ and _oh, tell that story!_ echoed into the night, Bellamy grinned, fell back onto his butt, and then scooted closer to the fire.

“I can’t start with that one though,” he explained, hushing the immediate protests with a small wave of his hand. “We’ll get there soon enough. I have to start at the beginning after all.”

“I wanna hear about the nine-headed snake! Please, please?”

It was a Grounder girl who had spoken with such excitement. She was the one who seemed like the leader of the tagalongs--even though she wasn't the oldest or biggest of them--the one whom had spoken with Clarke most on the road and often followed her around camp like a talkative shadow.

“I’m Sidni,” she announced. “Will you please tell that one?”

“I’ll tell it tomorrow and I swear, it’s worth the wait.” he promised with a nod.

She assessed him seriously, then nodded back firmly with a small, growing grin.

With a smile in return, he settled back against the log, preparing himself. After a quick but thrilling summary of Hercules’ origins, he was just getting to the part of how the twelve labors came about when he heard a pointed throat-clearing from behind him.

“I was wondering where you went,” Octavia murmured in amusement when he craned his head around to look at her.

“Oh, shi--sorry. I forgot about the drinks.”

She snorted, then plopped down on the ground next to him. “You kidding? This is way better.”

Bellamy smiled when she winked at some of the stunned Grounder kids, who no doubt viewed Octavia kom Skaikru as a legendary figure herself.

“Are you going to keep going?” She prodded teasingly while she settled back against the log next to him. “Or should I just tell it?”

“You never remember it right,” he slung back. “Let the expert do the work.”

Rolling her eyes, Octavia grinned and the kids laughed at their jibes. Once they had quieted, he launched back into the tale. Just like when he and his sister were younger, he lost himself in the words, in the imagined lands far away, and in the ages-old heroes and villains. It wasn’t until Octavia’s hand slide into his and squeezed firmly that he remembered where he was. Bellamy squeezed back as he continued telling the story, a little bit more grounded this time.

The kids listened with rapt attention as Octavia had when she was their age, and it made him warm in a way the fire could not to see their eyes light up with adventure, even in this time and place when they had plenty of that in reality. They whined when he left off for the night--again, as his sister always had--and he told them, just like he had told Octavia, and his mother had told him when he was the audience, that there would be more tomorrow.

* * *

 

Bellamy kept his promise, wandering over to their fire a bit earlier the next night. He wasn’t about to get them in trouble with their parents or guardians for staying up past their bedtime. They greeted him loudly and excitedly when he approached, immediately making room for him on more than one of the benches.

With a growing sense of anticipation, he settled in, rubbing his hands together before bracing his forearms on his knees and asking lowly, “Are you sure you’re ready to hear about another monster?”

The resounding answer was a loud _yes_ from all, and he laughed at their enthusiasm. “You sure?”

They laughed out _yes! yes!_ again, more impatient this time. Raising his eyebrows and tipping his head in mock admonishment, he waited until they quieted, and then a little bit longer, letting the tension build before he dove back into the world of Hercules and his second labor.

The night of the fourth labor, more than a few of the kids brought a friend, and by the time he was telling of the seventh labor--the Cretan bull, which apparently was a bit of a disappointment in comparison to a minotaur--there were a few adults in attendance too. Kane and David stopped by for the ninth labor, and after the tenth labor, they had to move to a bigger fire to accommodate the growing audience.

“So what do you got planned for after tonight?” Harper asked through a mouthful of bread at lunch on the twelfth day.

“What do you mean?” He replied.

“You’re continuing Storytime, right?”

Octavia cackled, and Monty grinned as Bellamy raised his head slowly from looking at his plate. “Storytime?”

Harper shrugged. “That’s what the kids were calling it. I think Councilman Benson had a much more pretentious name for it, something about ‘passing on the legacy of our ancestors’.” She snorted. “Storytime sounds like actually something fun, so I went with that.”

“The Council knows about this?”

“You saw Kane was there the other night. Abby and Lina have gone too. Of course they know. They love this type of bonding shit,” Miller said as he sopped up the last of his gravy with crust.

“Christ,” Bellamy muttered.

“Aw, getting performance anxiety?”

He dipped his fingers in his cup and flicked some water at Miller. He made a noise of protest, frowning, but Monroe reached over and stopped him from retaliating.

“No,” Bellamy answered. “It’s just--”

“Just forget I said anything,” Harper reassured him. “Please, everyone loves it, especially the kids. It’s--good. Really good.”

Sighing and wondering how a simple gesture had spiraled out of control, he rubbed his temple. Suddenly the endless myths stored in his head were all jumbled, one running into and tangling around the next.

“What about how the Olympians came to be?” Octavia suggested.

He thought for a minute, shoulders dropping as the idea started to take form. “That could work. Do I start with Gaia and Uranus--”

“Obviously. That’s some good shit right there.”

“Overthrowing parental authority?” He asked wryly. “Yes, exactly the type of theme the Council wants me to be relaying, I’m sure.”

“We are delinquents after all--what do they expect?”

Everyone laughed, and Bellamy smiled at his sister and the way she grinned too, pleased with herself.

“Alright,” he relented. “I’ll keep going after tonight. But I’ll be damned if I call it Storytime.”

* * *

 

It didn’t seem to matter what he called it; his audience kept growing anyways. He had his regular attendees, which always included the children, but new and different faces showed up as a few more nights passed. Soon enough, kids and adults alike were asking him what he had planned for upcoming stories, some shyly making requests. Never had he imagined when he had been curled up next to Octavia, whispering in her ear as their mother sewed away late into the night, that he would ever have more than one listener to the stories that kept the both of them sane growing up.

It wasn’t until he was delving into the Olympian’s stories that Clarke began coming to the fireside. The first night she stayed at the back of the crowd, even though he could glimpse Sidni tugging at her arm to bring her up to the front. The words didn’t flow as smoothly that night, and Octavia had to prompt him twice for what came next. She did it so effortlessly, though, and with as much theatrics in her voice as he had that it seemed natural. The audience soaked it up, but Bellamy’s hand ached at the end of the night from having stayed clenched the entire time.

Over the next few nights, she moved up in the crowd but never came within direct view of him. As she always seemed to do lately, Clarke lingered just out of sight, a shadow too bright to hide completely.

After the first time, Bellamy vowed to not allow her to throw him off his game. He let the stories work their usual magic of distraction and enchantment, focusing on the eager and awed faces of the children who always clustered at the front of the group, staunch supporters of his tradition. They were the ones who always clambered for more at the end of each night, the ones who asked the best and most thoughtful questions. He let them become his focus and his purpose, a way to block everything else out.

Then one night, when the older listeners were drifting away after his conclusion, and the children were firing inquiry after inquiry at him, he realized Clarke had stayed behind as well.

Sidni was clutching her wrist, bouncing up and down in a way that made Clarke’s stiffness seem all the more stark. He tried for as long as he could to avoid looking in their direction, but as Sidni called out louder and louder, Bellamy didn’t have the heart to ignore her anymore. Steeling himself, he focused on the girl but came up short when she asked her question.

“Did you change that story at all?”

He licked his lips, puzzled. “No, why?”

“Clarke’s told that one to us before! But it was...different.”

Bellamy’s gaze flicked up to her in surprise, but she was looking at Sidni with a cautious expression.

“What?” She asked the girl softly.

“When you told it,” Sidni said, turning as she swung Clarke’s arm slightly, “it wasn’t fire he stole, but a secret.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed.

“Remember,” Sidni drawled. “He was a god who stole a secret to save his people, and the other gods got mad and punished him. They sealed him in a cave and took away his air, right? And didn’t he have a--”

“I remember,” Clarke replied in a clipped tone, and cold trepidation trickled down Bellamy’s spine, even if he didn’t know why. Her voice was too even, and he narrowed his gaze as she stared pointedly at the top of Sidni’s head.

As the girl babbled on about the rest of the story and the differences, Bellamy watched Clarke fold in on herself again, her free arm wrapping around her middle, lips rolling inward as she seemed to bite back words.

“So which one is right?” Sidni asked, looking between the two of them.

“Bellamy’s,” Clarke responded immediately, still not looking at him. “His is right.”

Then she swooped down, pressed a kiss to Sidni’s head, and slipped out of the girl’s grasp. Quickly she walked away, towards her cabin, and Bellamy gripped the bench beneath him, watching her go but wishing he wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments much appreciated :)


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